A necessary journey
by silverbirch
Summary: My take on Ron's actions and thoughts when he left Harry and Hermione during "Deathly Hallows".
1. Chapter 1

I know it's not an original idea, but this is my take on Ron leaving the others during "Deathly Hallows".

Of course, none of it is mine.

The rating is for mild language, just to be safe.

Your reviews are very welcome.

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**'RON!! COME BACK!! PLEASE RON, COME BACK!!'**

**'DON'T GO RON!! PLEASE, DON'T GO!!'**

'RON!! DON'T LEAVE ME. PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME.'

The rain finally extinguished her voice as Ron pushed and slipped his way through the wood.

_'Ron, oh Ron. Please. I love you.'_

'Damn her. Damn her to hell. And him. Especially him. They've got what they wanted. She can have him; it's what she's always wanted. Golden Balls and Little Miss Perfect. Merlin! I've been so stupid. I thought it was me, I really thought it was me. How could it be? What am I compared to the Chosen One?

I'm just Ron, good ol' Ron. Ron the prat, Ron the mate, Ron the second best.

I'm not. I'm as good as him. Who got them across the chessboard? His bloody scar couldn't help him then, could it? She probably could have managed, as long as she had a week in the bloody library first. But I did it, there and then.

I was in the chamber with him. I was there. But no, he gets all the credit. Forget stupid Ron clearing the stupid tunnel so they could get out. Super-bloody-hero Potter saves the day again.

And I was there in the Ministry. I've still got the scars to prove it. Of course, I haven't got THE scar. Oh no, only bloody Potter's got the one that counts. And that's what she wants, isn't it? Draped over his arm with that bloody scar in every picture.

"Oh Ron, yes, we remember him, don't we darling? He was quite amusing to have around, but we've grown up now. We hunted Horcruxes, Ron hunted dinner, ho ho ho. Well, let's be honest, Ron was good for a laugh but no good in a crisis."

Ron's no bloody good for anything is he? Ron can't invent things like Fred and George. Ron can't be a seeker like Charlie. Ron can't break codes like Bill. Ron can't even be a bloody traitor like Percy. And I'm not a daughter. They stopped after Ginny, didn't they? They had to keep going until they got a girl. I'm not even the right bloody sex for my parents.'

He tripped over a tree root in the darkness and sprawled in the mud.

'I CAN'T EVEN WALK THROUGH A BLOODY FOREST.'

Ron pulled his wand from his pocket, and twisted. 'ANYWHERE BUT BLOODY HERE!!'

-o0o-

He apparated in to the middle of a run down industrial estate. Where, he didn't know and didn't care.

'Oh look lads, looks like we've got ourselves an escapee.'

Ron turned. Five men stood around a fire made of old pallets. Each had a wand in their hand. The tallest moved towards him.

'Don't try running, lanky. We got you covered, ain't we? Now, why ain't you in school wiv all the uvver good little boys an' girls? Eh?'

'I left last year.'

'Oh, di'ja now? So why ain't you at 'ome?'

'Had a row with my girlfriend, needed some air.'

''Oo's this girlfriend then, an' oo are you?'

'Stan Shunpike.'

The man moved towards him, wand still raised.

'I know that name. Shunpike? 'Oo's your dad?'

'Bill Shunpike. Works for the Ministry. And I tell you "sumfink", you mess with me and he'll hex your carcass across every bloody caldron in Knockturn Alley.'

The man stopped. Like most bullies, he wasn't as brave as he pretended to be. Most of the kids they'd tracked down had been scared. It had been easy money, picking up kids on the run from Hogwarts, or better still Mudbloods trying to get away. There were bigger rewards for mudbloods.

This one wasn't scared, or wasn't showing it. Maybe they had made a mistake. If his dad was still at the Ministry he was no traitor. He'd have friends, maybe important friends. All the snatchers knew they were barely tolerated by those now in charge. They were seen as a necessary evil, but once their job was done they would be cast aside. They were little better than vermin, working on the fringes. Wizards who were not good enough, or not pure enough, to be accepted in to the new order.

Whilst this was going on, the others had moved to surround Ron. Two seized his arms; a rat faced man took Ron's wand from his hand and faced up his comrade.

'Wot choo arguin' for, eh? Let's jus' take 'im in an' see. I don' know no Shunpike in the Ministry.'

'You don' know nuffink. Wot if 'is dad is a bigwig? You wanna be crucio'd across the room, do ya? We gotta fink.'

'You couldn't fink if your caldron was on fire. Jus' take 'im in stupid.'

'Don' you talk ter me like that'

'Yeah, or wha'?'

The two began a rather pointless pushing and shoving match, whilst trading insults which mainly consisted of two or less syllables. The rest thought this highly amusing, and began egging on their friends. It was so funny that one of them let go of Ron's arm.

Ron seized his chance without thinking. If he had have done, he wouldn't have moved. This was action born of panic. He swung his elbow back hard, catching the man right in his solar plexus. It was a lucky shot, he doubled over, winded. Ron seized the man's wand, threw curses at random, snatched another wand and span.

'Stoatshead Hill' It was the first thing that came in to his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Ron's feet slipped on the wet grass of the side of the hill, and he slid down the slope now soaking wet. He said a few rude words very loudly.

Stoatshead Hill was not far from "The Burrow". It was where they had caught the portkey to the Quidditch World Cup all those lifetimes ago.

He sat up, ignoring the wet seeping through his jeans, and rested his head on his knees, catching his breath. The rain had stopped, everything was still. Home was just a couple of miles away. He could be there for an early breakfast. His mum would cook it for him, and hug him, glad he was home again after his stupid adventure.

His head jerked up. His mum would be glad to see him, of course. His mum would still be glad to see Percy, and probably hug him and cook him breakfast as well. But what about the others?

In the cold still of the night, so close to home, Ron came to his senses. He couldn't go back. Fred and George, what would they say? The nicest word that came to mind was "coward". How could he explain he'd walked away, not run? He wasn't a coward, he knew that for certain.

What they had been doing wasn't the Horcrux hunt they'd planned. That was what he'd signed up for. Fighting Vol…You-know-who. Doing something. Working to the plan that Dumbledore had given Harry before he died. Doing something to win.

But there was no plan. They didn't know what they were doing. They had scurried around the countryside, creeping along hedgerows, always on the move, always hungry. The plan had consisted of nothing more than going over the same old arguments. Harry didn't have a clue. He didn't know what they were looking for, or where they were. Even when they'd found one, he didn't even know how to destroy it!! What a great leader!! The old bitterness rose in his throat again, but he still couldn't face the twins.

Would his dad understand? He was older and wiser; he'd worked for the Ministry. His dad. His dad would say not one word against Ron. He wouldn't say one word for him either. His dad would say nothing, and that silence would be the worst curse that anyone could ever cast.

Ginny would want to know where Harry was. He would tell her that her hero Harry was now with Hermione. Harry hadn't given a damn about her. She was just a good snog. Could he say that to Ginny? Could he be the one to tell her the truth? Ginny would never believe him.

It was as if Nearly Headless Nick had walked through him. The cold that hit his body was like a physical blow. Was it the truth? Did Hermione really choose Harry over him in that way?

'…we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help –'

'I get it. You choose him'

She hadn't chosen Harry had she? She'd chosen to stay with him. She hadn't thrown Ron out, had she? He'd walked.

He had to get back to her. He had to know the real truth, for his sake.

-o0o-

Where had they been? He knew it was in Wales, somewhere with lots of consonants and no vowels. Where was it? Stupid bloody country!! Why couldn't they have a proper language people could speak? Where was it? Vy… Vyr

…come on!!

RIVER VYRNWY!!

He stumbled as he landed. Apparation was physically draining, and that was his third in a few hours. The lack of food didn't help either. Ron had always been led by his stomach. He looked around. He was by the river – or a river anyway – and the trees looked about right, but there was no tent anywhere.

Which way did he go? Was he in the right place? Ron slumped on to a fallen log and tried to think. He was desperately tired, soaked through and cold. Towards the east the sky was showing streaks of light, morning was approaching and lighting the scene around him. He thought the valley looked a little broader than he'd remembered it, so that must mean….something. Come on!! Think!! It must mean he was downstream of their site.

The journey back along the river was painfully slow. The slopes away from the river were steep enough to make walking awkward, and the brush pulled at his clothes. He often slipped on mosses and grass. All that kept him going was the thought of seeing Hermione again.

Yeah, he knew he was probably in for a hard time. That wasn't a problem; she'd been giving him a hard time for years. He hoped it would just be verbal. Verbal he could cope with, with his mum you had to. Yeah. Verbal would be OK. Mind you, there were lots of small birds in the woods; she wouldn't even have to conjure anything up. The canaries had been the worst ever.

After several hours of scrambling, he started to recognise landmarks; that bramble, those trees. He was getting close, and picked up the pace. The tent, it's just around here, it's …..gone.

He stood looking stupidly at the spot their tent had occupied, as if expecting it to reappear at any moment. Of course, it didn't. He began a careful search of the area, hoping against hope he was in the wrong place. They had always been careful to cover their tracks, to obliterate every sign of their being, but it was impossible to do so completely. He knew, deep down, that this was the right place and there by the side of a puddle was the proof. A clear imprint of his trainer sole. As he scanned around, he saw other tracks, including the path he had taken just the previous night.

That was the worst time of all. The real low point. His friends had gone, they hadn't waited for him. They knew he wasn't coming back, so why bother?

'Then GO!' he'd said 'leave the Horcrux.'

'Yes, I'm staying' she'd said.

How could they think he'd walk out? His friends. Harry, who'd saved his sister's life. Harry who'd been beside him when they'd fought for the Philosopher's Stone. Harry who'd saved his father's life, who'd fought with him at the Ministry.

Hermione, the only girl he'd ever cared about, ever … loved? Lavender didn't count – that was lust. Hermione had visited him in hospital every day. They'd shared a day in Hogsmeade together, probably the happiest day of his life. They'd spent summers together at "The Burrow". He thought she cared about him.

For the first time since he could ever remember, Ron cried. He sunk to his knees and cried. Tears of remorse, tears of regret, tears of loneliness. Maybe even tears of fear. He could never find them again. There was no way he could track them around the country, and even if he were stood next to them, the charms Hermione placed around their camp would render them invisible to him.

Whatever happened now, he was on the outside. If they died, he would always be remembered as the one who'd left, the one who ran away. If they lived and defeated You-know-who, he would be forgotten.

He stayed in the wood most of the day, unable to think, not wanting to think. He wanted to die. It was the chill that came with the setting sun that finally roused him. There was only one place left available to him.

'Shell Cottage.'

Author's note:

The Vyrnwy is a real river in Wales, and very pretty too. If you want to google it, there are pictures.


	3. Chapter 3

Ron approached the pretty little cottage on the cliff edge with legs that felt like lead. This was his last hope. If Bill turned his back on him there was nowhere else to go except in to the sea. He knocked, and heard his brother calling out.

'Who's there? Make yourself known.'

'Bill, it's me. Ron.'

'Prove it.'

'Bill, it's me, your brother. OK. OK. When I was little, Fred and George tried to get me to make an Unbreakable Vow. Dad caught them just in time.'

The door swung open to reveal Bill standing there, his wand still at readiness.

'Sorry about that, but you can't be too careful. Come in. Where are the others?'

'I'm on my own.'

They're not with you? What's happened to them?'

'I…I'm…I'm not with them any more.'

'You walked out on Hermione? You left her? Why?'

'Bill, please…'

'OK, 'nuff said. Come on through'

Bill motioned Ron through to the sitting room. A wood fire burned in the grate, casting a warm glow. Fleur was sat in a chair at the side, knitting. Ron felt even more inadequate as he took in the simple domesticity of the scene. One day, in the future, he could have been part of a scene like this, with Hermione sat …No, he'd given that up.

'Ron, 'ow good to see you! But, where are the ozzers?'

Behind Ron's back, Bill made "No, not now" gestures. Fleur flicked her eyes quickly between the two.

'You will stay, of course. Shall I get you some food?'

'I don't want to cause you any bother, honestly. Could I just get some sleep?'

Bill showed Ron up to a small bedroom, told him where the bathroom was, and headed back downstairs. As Ron crossed the hallway, he could hear low voices coming up the stairs.

'But Beel, 'e 'as not run off and left zem? Ron would not do zat. 'e is brave, like you'

'I don't know, love. Whatever's happened, it looks a bit of a mess. I'll have a talk with him once he's had a sleep. You don't mind him staying here, do you?'

' 'e is family. 'e 'elped save my seester. I do not forget.'

-o0o-

For the first time in living memory, Ron refused extra breakfast. The food he had eaten stuck in his throat. What were they eating now? Mushrooms? Blackberries? He was sat in the warm, eating food that was not his. He felt like a parasite. Fleur looked at him reproachfully, her large eyes sad.

'You do not like my cooking?'

'No, it's wonderful food. I'm just not hungry, honestly.'

Ron had never refused food in his life; he was a stomach on legs. Bill gave him a curious look and tried to speak casually.

'I normally go down to the beach after breakfast, to collect driftwood and get some exercise. Want to come with me.'

It was a steep and uneven path down the cliffs. At the bottom, Bill paused and sat on a rock jutting out from the cliff.

'A chance to get my breath back' he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. Ron sat beside Bill, throwing small stones down the beach in a distracted fashion. Bill knew he would speak, given time.

'I shouldn't be here, I should go. You don't need me butting in. You've got a wife to look after.'

'And who's going to look after you, little brother?'

'Why should anyone want to? Why bother?'

This wasn't the Ron Bill knew. This wasn't the Ron who was cracking jokes, or making stupid comments or talking about Quidditch. The confidence was gone; the cocky – sometimes objectionable – Ron had been crushed.

'I shouldn't have done it, should I?'

They were getting close now. Ron would tell the story in his own words, and it was that which would provide the answers. Bill just needed to be there to encourage the words out.

'I lost it. We've been on the run for weeks, and we weren't getting anywhere. I thought there was a plan, something we were going to do. He's wrong, I didn't think we'd be finding one every day and home for Christmas, but I thought there was some kind of plan. I let him lead, them lead.

That's where I went wrong. I've been second best to them for so long I forgot….they don't know everything. We should have been a team, working together. That's what I did wrong.'

He sat up, his voice growing stronger with realisation.

'I should have been strong enough to take the lead when they struggled. I should have been there urging them on. They can't carry me for the whole of their lives. I was an equal member of that team, but when they needed me I didn't pull my weight. I should have been there for them, just like they've been there for me.

It's like a game of Quidditch. When it's going wrong, I'm in front of the posts, I can see the whole pitch. I should have been directing them, keeping them focused. But I failed them. I failed Hermione.'

Then he slumped back again as realisation broke in.

'I can't help them now though, can I? I walked – I didn't run, Bill, honestly. They moved on, I went back to try to find them, but they'd gone, and I don't know where. What do I do now?'

It was Bill's turn now. 'It's a tricky one. You've got to wait for them to surface again. They will, I'm sure of it. Keep a bag packed and ready to go. When you find them, and you will, tell them straight what you did. Don't try to bluff it.

In the meantime, you can stay with us, I promise I won't tell mum. I'll tell her we want to spend Christmas on our own; you know first holiday and all that. Fleur won't mind, as long as you don't try and put Celestina Warbeck on the radio! Come on, let's get some wood or she'll give me hell! You'll learn that one day.'

'Will I, Bill? Do you think she'll have me back after this?'

'You two have been in love forever, Mum tells me. It's only you two who've never seen it.'

Despite Bill's words, and Fleur's assurances, Ron spent a lot of time in his room. He also took over the wood collecting patrol. It was something he could do to help out. He started to look forward to those solitary walks on the beach. For the first time in his life, he had personal space around him, and time to think. It was a journey of self-discovery, and although there were a lot of things he found out about himself he didn't like, it helped him get all the "mental stuff" in to perspective. There was just that one small doubt now remaining. Was he the one she had chosen?

He spent long hours torturing himself with comparisons. One on one, what did he have that would give him an edge over his best friend? Why would she choose him instead of Harry? In his despair and desolation, he knew he could not answer that question. There was only one person who could.

-o0o-

Ron awoke early on Christmas morning and automatically looked to the foot of his bed, but there were no presents save a small package from Bill and Fleur. This year, there was no Weasley jumper. He missed that. He'd always said he never liked them, but it was as if a link to the past had been broken.

He lay back in the bed, wishing he could stay there all day, but knowing he would have to go down eventually and eat, and pretend just for this day he was happy. He had to do that for their sake.

A radio sat by the side of his bed, so he turned it on, just in time to catch Celestina Warbeck having the heart charmed out of her, for probably the 2,000th time in her life. He imagined his mum listening as well. She was probably already in the kitchen, starting on dinner. He wondered if she was looking at his hand on the clock. What was it pointing to? Mortal peril? Hiding?

'Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?'

'…Ron? When he broke his wand, crashing the car?'

He sat up suddenly, that wasn't part of the lyrics. What was going on? Why had she said his name?

'It was never the same again, he had to get a new one.'

That wasn't Celestina. He knew that voice. It was Hermione!! She was in his pocket!! How?

He pulled out the deluminator and stared at it. It held the answer. He clicked it and the light in his room went out, but there was still a faint blue glow form somewhere. Where? He looked around. It was coming from outside the window.

He jumped out of bed and quickly shoved as many clothes as he could in to his rucksack before heading out of the house. Should he leave a note? No. Bill would know what was happening. Bill had always said there would be a way back.

Ron squared his shoulders and opened the back door. He was going back to Hermione; he was going to find out the truth.

It wasn't the day Ron grew up, but it was the day he stopped being a child.

Fin


End file.
